'We must. To that end, we should make ready to advance. We are already behind schedule, and the plan relies on precise—'

'What?' Poulder stared at him as though he suspected West of having gone suddenly insane. 'Move forward? Without orders? Without a clear chain of command?'

Kroy gave vent to an explosive snort. 'Impossible.'

Poulder violently shook his head. 'Out of the question, entirely out of the question.'

'But Marshal Burr's orders were quite specific—'

'Circumstances have very plainly altered.' Kroy's face was an expressionless slab. 'Until I receive explicit instructions from the Closed Council, no one will be moving my division so much as a hair's breadth.'

'General Poulder, surely you—'

'In this particular circumstance, I cannot but agree with General Kroy. The army cannot move an inch until the Open Council has selected a new king, and the king has appointed a new Lord Marshal.' And he and Kroy eyed each other with the deepest hatred and distrust.

West stood stock still, his mouth hanging slightly open, unable to believe his ears. It would take days for news of Burr's death to reach the Agriont, and even if the new king decided on a replacement immediately, days for the orders to come back. West pictured the long miles of forested track to Uffrith, the long leagues of salt water to Adua. A week, perhaps, if the decision was made at once, and with the government in chaos that hardly seemed likely.

In the meantime the army would sit there, doing nothing, the hills before them all but undefended, while Bethod was given ample time to march north, slaughter the Dogman and his friends, and return to his positions. Positions which, no doubt, untold numbers of their own men would be killed assaulting once the army finally had a new commander. All an utterly pointless, purposeless waste. Burr's coffin had only just passed out of sight but already, it seemed, it was quite as if the man had never lived. West felt the horror creeping up his throat, threatening to strangle him with rage and frustration. 'But the Dogman and his Northmen, our allies… they are counting on our help!'

'Unfortunate,' observed Kroy.

'Regrettable,' murmured Poulder, with a sharp intake of breath, 'but you must understand, Colonel West, that the entire business is quite out of our hands.'

Kroy nodded stiffly. 'Out of our hands. And that is all.'